The Man Frozen in Time
by SSSP-shhh
Summary: As the Helicarrier flies the Avengers to their next mission, Steve Rodgers is stuck dwelling in times passed. Enter a drunk Tony Stark. ONESHOT SLASH, "Stony", American Iron. Rated M for a reason!


**Warnings and Notes:**

**This is SLASH, meaning man-on-man sexytimes. If you do not like that, do not read.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Marvel, or these characters.**

**B here! I know it has been forever and a half, but life happens. Does anyone else think "Stony" is a silly name for Tony Stark/Captain America? It sounds like they are high, like all of the time.**

**Anyway, enjoy~**

Steve Rodgers sat in a secluded conference room of the Helicarrier with a glass of whiskey. The whiskey kept him company has he sat waiting for the ship to take them to their final destination. Even though he couldn't get drunk, the whiskey helped pass the time and the secluded room distanced him from the rest of the team. Don't get him wrong, Steve loved the team… but there were certain members he would rather avoid during nights like these.

Steve took another sip of his drink and put it down. He rested his elbows upon the table and cradled his head in his hands. Sleeping was hard. Ever since he woke up from the ice, the world seemed too loud and noisy, too fast. Sleep was fitful at best and full of nightmares of Bucky falling off cliffs at worst. Steve sat like that for what seemed like hours.

A deafening _crash_ startled Steve out of his contemplation and he quickly sat up in his seat. "Whoops!" a voice said loudly, and another thud came from the wall outside of Steve's conference room. "Oh, great," Steve muttered under his breath as he stood up to assess the situation.

Before he could reach the door, however, a very disheveled Mr. Tony Stark slammed himself into the doorframe of the conference room. He leaned on it heavily, and took a pose Tony probably thought looked refined and suave, but was ruined by the cheap beer in his hand. "Well, if it isn't Captain America!" exclaimed Mr. Stark.

"I was just leaving," said Steve. He strode over to the door and tried to pass Mr. Stark quickly, but Mr. Stark put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. Steve could have easily muscled his way past, as Mr. Stark was not in his Iron Man suit, but Steve didn't want to get into a fight. He just wanted some peace and quiet.

Mr. Stark seemed to have other plans. "Stay awhile, Spangled-pants," Mr. Stark slurred. "Have a drink with me. I see you have already started." He tried to point to the half-drunk cup of whiskey on the conference table, but he lost balance and nearly fell to the floor. Steve caught him mid-fall. "I can't get drunk," Steve replied tersely. "I'm going to bed."

"Hey, hey, hey now," Stark said, "Now that's not fair. Why can't you drink, old man? Wait, wait, wait… Does that have to do with the whole 'superhuman' thing? Or are you just trying to make me go away?" Stark grinned way too big and let out bark of laughter. He stepped into Steve's personal space and put his hand on Steve's chest again. His face got too close to Steve's and he whispered, "I heard that you used to be a lot… smaller before the operation. Did _everything_ get bigger after the scientists were done with you?" Starks eyes darted from Steve's face to crotch and up again.

Stark smashed against the opposite wall of the hallway and Steve heard Stark's beer bottle shatter into pieces. Steve shook out his fist and tensed, his arms by his sides, glaring at Stark huddled on the ground. "I've got more where that came from, Stark," Steve spat. "Put on the suit and we'll go a few rounds."

"I'd love to go a few rounds with you, Cap, but I was rather hoping neither of us would be wearing anything at all…"

Steve was always trying to be the good man, the honest man, the man that stood up to bullies in a fair fight. He always strove to only use his strength in times of great need, against those who did harm to others. But right in that moment, Steve was blindingly angry. How could this, this, inhuman bastard make such lewd and offensive remarks without so much as batting an eyelash? Stark didn't deserve to be on this team or out defending others. He couldn't even treat his own comrades with respect, so what right did he have to anyone else?

"Whoa there Captain, murderous rage doesn't look so good on you—" Steve took two steps across the hallway, hoisted Stark up by the front of his shirt, and dragged him into the conference room. Steve kicked the door behind them shut and roughly released Stark. He didn't know why he dragged Stark into the room, but he knew he had to do _something_. He tried to get his thoughts in order, inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm himself and closed his eyes…

Steve felt something scratch over his face and a warm breath against his lips. Before he could react, Stark was kissing him.

Steve's eyes flew open and his brain shut down. _Wha—Why?_ He stared straight ahead, slack jawed and unmoving, as Stark pressed himself up against Steve's body. Stark pressed his lips more firmly against Steve's mouth, apparently urging Steve to join in. Steve felt this was another one of those stupid challenges Stark put him up to sometimes, and even though Steve knew that, he was tired, angry, and not in his right mind (he reasoned later). He kissed Stark back forcefully, flinging his hands up to the back of Stark's neck.

Unlike the kisses he'd shared with Peggy, this kiss was one of dominance. The kiss was pure fire: burning anger, with tongue and teeth and hunger and lust. One of Steve's hands wound its way into Stark's hair and pulled, while the other raked down Stark's side. And also unlike any kiss he'd shared with a woman, he felt he could let himself free – he could push Stark roughly back without the fear of hurting him, he could crane his neck downward to gain a better angle to Stark's tongue. He could let the desperation of his situation flow into Stark.

Yet, Stark's hands were surprisingly gentle, resting on the small of Steve's back while Steve ravished him. They stood like that for what was probably seconds, but felt much, much longer, until Steve had a niggling thought in the back of his mind… something wasn't right.

Steve suddenly pulled away and pushed Stark back. "Are you even drunk? You don't taste like alcohol!" Steve accused, wiping the spit from his mouth, slowly realizing what he had done.

Stark straightened up and his face cleared, every trace of his faked-drunkenness gone. "You are a very good kisser, even though _you_ taste like alcohol." He wrinkled his nose. "And you're smarter than you look, Steve."

"Don't call me that," Steve growled. "We aren't on first-name terms."

"Oh really? Making out with someone doesn't put them on first-name terms?" Stark grinned. "So what does?" Stark's voice lowered to a purr.

"We did not just make out," Steve informed him, grabbing the front of Stark's shirt in his hand.

"Uhh, we completely and totally did just make out," Stark corrected.

"I'm not…" Steve tightened his grip on Stark's shirt and spat, "Gay."

"Could have fooled me."

"Stop, Stark. I played your little game, now leave me be." Steve let go of Stark's shirt forcefully and turned to open the door they had been pushed up against, but suddenly Stark's hand was holding it shut.

"Don't you want to know why I did it? Why I faked being drunk?" Stark asked, his tone conversational, devoid of the lusty tones he had used earlier. "Why I let you punch me across the hallway?"

Steve took the bait and turned to face Stark. "You didn't _let_ me punch you across the hallway," Steve clarified and Stark shrugged.

"Debatable," Stark replied.

"You probably had a bet or something," Steve mused darkly. "Or you wanted to blackmail me. Prove that the American Hero is not actually…"

"You really think that low of me, do you? And here I thought you were Mr. Positive." Stark took his hand off of the door and strode over to the table where Steve's whiskey still sat. He picked up the glass and took a sip. "Don't look at me like that, Cap. We just kissed; it's not like your germs aren't any different on this glass than they were on your lips thirty seconds ago. I haven't actually had anything to drink today, and considering I was just drunk off of my ass I think I deserve a little liquor, don't you?" Stark took another sip. "Ah, that's good. Where did you get this anyway? All I could find was that cheap beer you kindly smashed outside. Thanks, by the way. It wasn't worth drinking."

Steve rolled his eyes and turned back to the door again, hand on the doorknob. "Anyway," Stark said loudly, clearly trying to get Steve to stay in the room with him, "I faked being drunk to get into your pants."

Steve froze. Now, he hadn't learned nearly enough slang from this time period to keep up with pop culture references, but Steve had a pretty good idea what "get into your pants" was supposed to mean. Then again, he had to be sure. "Get into my pants…?"

"Oh god," Stark said while rolling his eyes. "Get into your pants. Sleep together. Make love." Steve must have still looked confused, because Stark exclaimed, "For fuck's sake, I want to have sex with you!"

A tense silence followed for a long time.

Finally, Steve said, "And you thought pretending to be drunk would _help_ with… that?"

"To be honest, I hadn't thought that far ahead. The usual methods didn't seem to be working," Stark mused. He seemed relieved that Steve had spoken.

Usual methods? Steve had no idea what Stark was talking about. In fact, Steve's brain had kind of shut down. His mouth started talking for him. "Why? Why do you… uhh… you know… with me? You hate me. And I'm not gay." Steve shook his head forcibly.

"I don't hate you. I like to banter with you of course. That is fun. But, you're really, really hot and I thought this would be a great way to let off steam. It gets really tense around here." Stark took another sip from Steve's glass. "You seem to be trying to convince yourself of the 'not gay' thing."

"You—You're repulsive!" Steve finally said, his brain catching up with what was going on. "You strut around, pretending to be the big man, like you know everything. You act like everyone is beneath you. Everyone is here because they can help save the planet from sure destruction, but all it seems to you, is that it's a way for you to show off, to show off the amazing Stark with all of his metal toys. But really, Tony Stark, all you are is a bully." Steve was breathing heavily, and he found his hands were again clenched into fists by his sides.

Tony Stark was just staring wide-eyed at Steve, and for one moment, Steve thought he saw Stark's face crumble, as if Steve had hurt his feelings, before Stark turned away. For a while, they both stood there, Steve glaring at Stark, and Stark staring adamantly at the conference room table.

"I thought…" Stark started to speak but paused to take a breath. He started over. "I thought we were uhh… similar you know? Similar in a way, 'cause we're nothing alike."

"That doesn't make any sense." Steve glowered and crossed his arms.

Stark didn't turn around as he began talking. "All of us Avengers are here because we have skills that the world seems to need in order to survive. But not one person up on the chain of command stops to think that we are actually people underneath the suit. We are just the means to an end." Stark turned to face Steve. "All of our skills are completely different. They are isolating. You… you and I… we… both bear our duties to those who need us, but the moment that we need them, they don't…" Stark drained the rest of the whiskey in one gulp. "We each deal with the isolation in our own way. You, the army man, taking control. Me… showing off I guess. Anyway… I thought… Never mind." Stark set the glass down, and tried to pass Steve to get to the door.

Steve meant to put an arm out to stop him, but somehow the gesture turned into an embrace. They held each other for several moments. Steve hadn't thought about all that before… but he realized it was true. Not one person had tried to comfort him after he woke up from the ice, and everyone was pretending it wasn't a big deal. Stark—no—Tony understood that.

Tony was just as alone as Steve was.

Tony made to pull away from the hug but Steve held tighter. What a strange thought – finding common ground with Tony Stark of all people. Steve felt a sudden, overpowering desperation, the need to be close to someone in this hell of an airship they were currently stuck in. Before Steve knew what he was doing, Steve grabbed the sides of Tony's head and brought their mouths together again.

Steve could feel Tony's surprise against his lips. Steve pressed himself closer to Tony and opened his mouth to dart his tongue out to taste him. For a moment, Steve was terrified that Tony wouldn't kiss him back, but he needn't have worried. Steve could feel Tony smiling and then he joined with enthusiasm.

This kiss wasn't like their previous one. Where that one was burning fire, this one was rushing water: smooth and slow, with a rhythm, as if they were testing the current before they jumped in. Steve tangled his fingers into Tony's hair while Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's muscular frame and pulled Steve flush against him. They continued like that for what Steve would later swear was days. Time just stopped, as if Steve was again frozen in ice. This time he didn't want to wake up; he wanted to drown in Tony and never have to face the world again.

Tony shifted slightly in their embrace and Steve felt something pressing against his leg. He didn't think much of it until Tony slowly started pulling Steve towards the large table in the center of the conference room. When Tony bumped into the table, he disentangled himself slightly so he could sit on the surface. As he did, Steve took a moment to breathe, as he realized he had been holding his breath. He hadn't let go of Tony but he glanced down and realized what had been pressing against his leg.

Steve breathed in sharply and furrowed his brow. "You were serious?"

Tony wrapped one hand behind Steve's head and the other he used to lift Steve's chin up to meet his eyes. "Serious about what?"

"You know… having s-… You know what I mean." Steve glared, but it didn't have the same anger that had been present before.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony said, feigning innocence. "Could you please elaborate?"

Instead of elaborating, Steve just dove in for another kiss: this one feverish and communicating what Steve was too shy to say. He found men attractive – a lot more attractive than was appropriate for a man from the 40s. Men were strong and able to take care of themselves in a war. Steve didn't have to worry about putting on a strong face for him. Tony might not be able to take Steve's burdens away, but he could make Steve forget about them for a while.

His hands moved from Tony's face; one he slid down Tony's side to rest on his hip, the other he brushed carefully down Tony's front. His fingers spun circles around Tony's throat, over his shirt collar, and down the indent in his chest. Tony put up his own hand to stop Steve for a moment, pressing Steve's palm to the arc reactor in his chest. Both men paused for a moment to look at each other, the glow illuminating their faces.

Tony's eyes showed a brief moment of vulnerability as he said, "You don't have to, you know. You've probably never done this, considering the lack of the way you talk about it."

After a silence, Steve replied, "I don't want anything more than to make love with you right now."

Steve nearly regretted saying that when Tony broke into the most devilish grin Steve had ever seen. _Nearly_ regretted it, but not quite.

"Well, get over here then, _Captain_," Tony purred. Without warning, Tony wrapped his legs around Steve's waist. Steve lost balance and fell forward, falling onto the table with Tony underneath him. His hands flew out to break his fault just in time – his face was less than an inch from Tony's. He closed the distance with a tender kiss and allowed himself to melt into the man beneath him. He belatedly realized he was just as aroused as Tony was and let out a soft groan as their lengths brushed each other through their clothing.

Tony's hands ran down Steve's back until he reached the hem of Steve's thin tee-shirt. He tugged it upward to expose Steve's muscled back. "Help me out here?" Tony said breathily against Steve's lips.

"Oh, sorry," Steve replied, slightly embarrassed. He pulled himself away from Tony's embrace and quickly divested himself of his shirt.

"No need to be 'sorry'," Tony grinned, running his eyes up and down Steve's muscled front. He sat up slightly to brush his fingers over Steve's collarbone, down his sides, up his chiseled stomach, and around his back. Steve let out a soft sound of approval at the sensation and then went for Tony's shirt.

Both men picked up pace, gripping at each other and rolling over and over on the tabletop, both trying to get the upper hand. They bit at each other's lips and raked their hands over each other's backs. The table squeaked loudly in disapproval and Steve heard the now-empty whiskey glass crash to the floor.

Somewhere along the way Steve found that both of them had lost the rest of their clothing in their feverish haste to gain advantage over the other. Tony rutted their bare cocks together and the friction was one of the best sensations Steve had ever felt in his life. Steve threw his head back to hit the table and moaned again. Tony sucked his neck and ran his tongue across Steve's collarbone. He held Tony tighter, arms wrapped around Tony's torso, Tony's arms resting lightly on his chest. "…Tony…" he said softly.

Tony paused his movement for a moment. "So _this,_" Tony pressed their erections together again, making Steve gasp, "is what it takes to be on first name terms with someone, is it?" he said grinning.

"Shut up," Steve growled (without as much menace as he would have hoped) and rolled them over again so Tony was trapped beneath him. As he maneuvered himself between Tony's legs, he grabbed one of Tony's wrists and pinned it to the table next to Tony's head.

"Shutting up now, Steve–" Steve leaned down to shut Tony up himself. This kiss was slow and exploratory, Tony's free hand ran down Steve's front towards his hardness, but never quite touched it. When Steve pulled up for air, Tony started talking again.

"As much as I like topping, since you've obviously never done this before—" Tony raised an eyebrow at Steve's expression, "—you can top."

Tony instructed Steve through the process of preparing him for the main event. (Somehow Tony still managed to look smug while Steve's fingers were up his ass.) More than once Steve wanted to punch Tony (which he didn't), and many more times than that, Steve wanted to kiss him (which he did).

Their pace was slow at first, but gained speed until both of them were gasping for breath, drenched in sweat as their bodies rocked in asynchronous rhythm. Tony was so tight and warm and willing… Steve didn't want to ever stop. Tony gripped him tightly as Steve rocked them vigorously, each thrust endeavoring to be deeper than the last.

Steve came first; a warm, pleasant feeling started in his stomach and then spread to the rest of his body, all the way to his fingertips. Tony came some time after, splattering both of their stomachs. Steve rolled off of Tony and both lay on the conference room table, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch their breaths. Steve lazily rolled his head to look at Tony and saw him in profile, his mouth slightly parted, eyes nearly closed.

Tony must have felt Steve looking at him, because he turned to lock eyes with Steve and grinned.

"Fun, hmm?" Tony breathed. Tony's usual cockiness was missing from his voice, though. Steve sat up, knees over the edge of the table, and looked back at Tony. Steve rolled his eyes. He slid off of the table in order to find his clothes and heard Tony doing the same. They dressed in silence.

Just as Steve was about to exit the room, Tony spoke up. "This better not be the last time, Cap."

Steve paused to look back at Tony. Tony's hair was a complete mess and his clothes were wrinkled from being thrown to the floor. His usual swagger was replaced by a happy glow, and Steve new he would be able to trust him – Steve's secret was safe with him. Or rather, being gay was both of their secrets now, he reasoned. He met Tony's eyes as he said, "It won't be."

Steve left the room with a smile on his face, feeling at peace for the first time since he was trapped in ice. He wouldn't be having nightmares tonight.

**I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think in a review. :D**

**By the way, there is a severe lack of good American Iron (Tony/Steve) love in the fandom. I thought I would remedy that.**

**~B**


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